


and the living's easy

by ghostsoldier



Category: Jhonen Vasquez Comics
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:51:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostsoldier/pseuds/ghostsoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pepito <em>could</em> just steal the information right out of his head, but for some bizarre reason, Squee seems to trust him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and the living's easy

**Author's Note:**

> Squee and Pepito are teenagers here. In spite of this being set in the world of the "Squee!" comics, the tone is a lot lighter and a lot fluffier. The poor kid gets tortured enough, and I just don't have the heart. Originally written and posted in 2007.

Pepito likes summertime. Spring is for pansies, all flowers and sunshine and fluffy fucking bunnies, and the bone-deep chill of winter makes him edgy and uncomfortable. Fall is okay, mostly because of the colors and Halloween, but _summer_...summer is good. Summer is _hot_. Pepito likes the swelter of it, the way sweat slicks in the hollows of his hipbones and the small of his back, the press of heated air against his skin. He likes the long, lazy days, the ragged summer brushfires, the way the heat incites all _sorts_ of petty aggravations and turns people to anger and riot and murder.  
  
He considers telling all this to Squee as they lie in the coolness of the grass beneath the giant oak in his backyard, but decides against it: the more negative aspects would make Squee uncomfortable. Pepito likes to needle Squee sometimes -- playfully, of course -- but there are dark shadows smudged just beneath Squee’s eyes, and Pepito knows without asking that last night was a bad night for the other boy. Insomnia, maybe. Nightmares. Parents or the neighbor guy or aliens... _something_. He could look into the surface of Squee’s thoughts and just pluck the knowledge out like a ripe plum, but that seems to make Squee uncomfortable too.  
  
Somehow, over the years, Pepito has made a habit of avoiding those things that make Squee uncomfortable.  
  
So instead of talking about brushfires or Squee’s nightmares, Pepito scratches amiably at his belly and tucks an elbow behind his head, turning his head so he can see him better. Where Pepito’s body has settled into a lazy, loose-limbed sprawl, Squee manages to remain knotted even when he’s at rest. He lies on his back, arms curled tight over his chest, his knees drawn up, sneakered feet pressed flat to the grass. Pepito doesn’t say anything, but Squee seems to sense that he’s being looked at, and he turns his head to regard Pepito with his wide, dark gaze.  
  
“What?” he says.  
  
Pepito grins. “Nothing. Just wondering what your favorite season was.”  
  
A tiny smile flashes over Squee’s lips, and he uncurls himself enough to let one hand drift to the grass, where he plucks up a fallen leaf and begins to twirl it between his fingertips. “You could find that out easily enough. It’s in my head, if you looked for it.”  
  
“Don’t wanna look for it,” Pepito says, snorting. He scratches his stomach again, his t-shirt riding up a little. “I want you to tell me.”  
  
“Why?” Honest curiosity in the other boy’s voice, which surprises him a little. After all this time, is it so hard to believe that Pepito actually likes knowing stuff about him?  
  
“Because,” Pepito says. He turns his head and grins at Squee. “I’m lazy. Humor me.”  
  
This makes Squee laugh. “Okay,” he says. “Fine. My favorite season is...”   
  
He stops and pushes up onto his elbows, smiles. The smile is a lot more devilish than normal; the sudden heat blooming in Pepito’s stomach has nothing to do with the summer swelter. “Guess,” says Squee, and he looks so goddamned pleased with himself that Peptio could kiss him.  
  
“Oho,” he says. “So it’s going to be _that_ way, is it?”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“Hmm.” Pepito stretches his arms over his head and cracks his knuckles. “This might take some doing.”  
  
Squee lies back on the grass, his big, dark eyes still on the other boy. He’s relaxed some, Pepito is pleased to see -- his arms aren’t folded in a tight, tangled knot over his chest anymore, and while his legs aren’t settled in the same lazy sprawl as Pepito’s, they’re not stiffened in the tense right angles of before.   
  
He’s challenging me, Pepito realizes. That faint, devilish gleam in his expression, the way his eyes are now fixed on Pepito’s, _daring_ him. The knowledge was right there in his head, he’d said, but Pepito had argued; now, Squee’s making him put his money where his mouth is.  
  
What has he done to earn that kind of trust?  
  
So. He could do one of two things -- he could dip into Squee’s scary little head and just _take_ the knowledge. Given their current conversation, it was doubtless sitting right in the surface of his thoughts. But they both know Pepito isn’t going to do that, Pepito most of all. Squee _trusts_ him, which leaves open only option number two: he’s going to have to guess.   
  
Squee is still looking at him, which makes that weird, nervous heat settle in his belly again. There’s something really focused about the way Squee looks at him. Squee’s kind of focused about everything -- Pepito figures it’s become some sort of survival mechanism, like if Squee is hyper-focused about something or other, then it can’t do something unexpected and hurt him -- but the focus he pays Pepito is different. It’s almost like he doesn’t expect something bad to happen. Not anymore. Pepito reaches across the space between them and tugs at a lock of Squee’s hair.  
  
“It’s not winter,” he says. “That’s pretty fucking obvious.”  
  
The boy doesn’t pull away from his touch. “Why not winter?” he says.  
  
“Because,” Pepito says. “You don’t like cold.”  
  
Squee hums, noncommittal. “Okay. Keep going.”  
  
“What, you’re not going to tell me if I’m right or not?”  
  
Squee’s mouth doesn’t move, but the smile in his eyes grows wider. “Nope,” he says. “Not until you make an actual guess.”  
  
“Okay, okay,” Pepito grumbles. “Let me think.”  
  
He was right about winter, he knows that much. During winter, Squee armors himself against the cold the way a turtle might, if turtles had access to wool, flannel and thick cotton scarves. When other kids were outside playing in the snow, Squee was always inside with a mug of cocoa and a blanket. What he did in his own house, Pepito didn’t know, but then Squee had a tendency to avoid his own house anyway, _especially_ during the winter. The Diablo house, on the other hand, was always warm, and on those long, frozen winter days when it seemed like the snow and wind were going to blanket the entire world in cold, Squee could always be found huddled in front of the Diablo fireplace, a book in his lap and an expression of near-relaxation on his face.   
  
No, Squee’s not a creature of the cold. Winter is definitely out.  
  
Fall? Pepito has his doubts about that too, and not just because of the cooling weather and the threat of winter on the horizon. Fall meant Halloween, and Squee...  
  
You’d think that a kid who’d been around so many real-life monsters wouldn’t have much to fear from the fake Halloween ones, but that was Squee for you. Aloud, Pepito says, “It’s not fall, either.”  
  
The shadow of the oak tree has shifted while they’ve been talking, and now Pepito’s lower half is bathed in sunlight. The warmth makes him feel sleepy, like a cat. His arm is still outstretched. They’re not touching anymore, but the way Squee is looking at him, the softness in his eyes, they might as well be.  
  
“Why not fall?” Squee says.  
  
Pepito smirks. “Halloween.”  
  
“That leaves spring and summer,” Squee says.  
  
Spring and summer. The toughest choice. Pepito drums his fingers against the grass and chews on his lower lip.  
  
On the one hand, spring means renewal, rebirth. That kind of thing would probably appeal to Squee, him and his weirdly poetic soul. Guys like Squee, they like renewal. It means all the bad shit is going to stop for a while. Spring means that winter is ending. Spring’s got promise.  
  
But...but then there’s summer, and summer means _heat_. It’s why Pepito loves the damn season so much. So. Choices.  
  
Pepito absently plucks a stalk of grass and chews on it, Squee watching him all the while. “Spring or summer,” he muses. “Spring or summer.”  
  
Squee rolls over onto his side, his cheek pillowed on the curve of his folded arm. “You don’t know, do you?” He sounds almost disappointed, and some of the earlier cheer is going out of his expression. He’s so _sensitive_ , Pepito thinks. It would be sad if it wasn’t so goddamn endearing. He sits up.  
  
“Summer,” he says.  
  
Squee blinks at him. “What?”  
  
“Summer,” Pepito says again. “That’s your favorite season. It’s summer.”  
  
Uncurling from his knot of limbs, Squee sits up too and regards Pepito from where he’s folded his arms over the tops of his knees. There’s nothing in his eyes but a question, so Pepito continues.  
  
“You like the heat,” he says. “That’s what it all comes down to. Summer is hot, and you like the heat.” A grin, the flash of his teeth. “You’re like me that way.”  
  
He just about glows when Squee smiles at him. It’s a _real_ smile this time, not those little, ghostly things of before, and it’s beautifully genuine. He knows he’s won before Squee even has to say a word. When he ruffles Squee’s hair, the other boy doesn’t duck away from the touch the way he might with someone else.  
  
Pepito loves that.  
  
“You wanna guess my favorite season, then?” he says. “Since I guessed yours and all.”  
  
“I don’t need to guess,” Squee says.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Mm-hmm. I already know.”  
  
“Okay, smart guy,” Pepito says. “What is it, then?”  
  
“Summer.”  
  
“Oh?” Pepito raises an eyebrow, questioning. “Why’s that?”  
  
And Squee...Squee just smiles. Leans into the brush of Pepito’s fingers against his hair. “Because,” he says. “It’s exactly the same as mine.”


End file.
